poem

 My Favorite Things

It begins with a phone call after midnight

Followed by a flurry of exchanged texts

Someone is in trouble and needs help.

Based on the information given it sounds

Like a lost cause but the ICU attending on

Site is young and quite concerned and has bypassed

The in-house surgical PA to convey the magnitude of her 

Disquietude directly to me via phone.

Years ago I would have argued, said something 

Dismissive or rude but I’m awake now

And consciously aware of how much my back aches

And I know I won't be able to go back to sleep

So I haul my ass out of bed and drive into the hospital.

The minute I see the poor old lady tubed and lined 

In the unit I know we have lost our window, probably days ago.

Hello Bessie, I say. Hello Mildred. Hello Cynthia.

No one is in the room. I call the number for the sister

Listed in the chart and she answers on the first ring.

Are you the one who’s going to save her?

Honestly, I don’t know 

I unleash a fusillade of cliches—

I’ll do my best.

It’s her only chance

Rock and a hard place 

I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news…

To fill the silence that ensues

I try a different track

I ask her to tell me her sister’s 

Favorite thing in the world.

Her most favorite thing in the whole world, I repeat.

And she tells me, after a pause, and that’s all 

I can think about the rest of the day

And every now and then, ever after. 

We finish the surgery by 7AM and hope for the best

But the light of dawn unmasks monsters

Lurking in the near shadows of the almost past 

And by noon the blunt force of futility arrives

As the blinds are drawn and the monitors turned off.

During dinner, I get a text she has passed

3/8/26